


ahoy, me hearties!

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [23]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Scurvy, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: Phichit is invested in Yuuri's wellbeing, as his friend, roommate, and fellow skater, so it bothers him when he notices Yuuri skipping out on regular dining hall hours to work on his triple axel for the sixth time in as many days.“You’re sure he has scurvy?” Celestino asks warily, watching Phichit load down a cart with oranges and grapefruits, lemons and limes that he will inevitably be asked to foot the bill for.“Like a pirate. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t eaten anything other than ramen and Cheetos for at least a month.”Celestino has acted as an unwilling spectator to Yuuri’s systematically destroying himself for the better part of a year, and honestly, the premise isn’t unbelievable enough for him to argue. He grabs the cart by the handle and rolls it away from the produce section towards the beverages. “We better pick him up some orange juice, just to be safe.”





	ahoy, me hearties!

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt, ["I will always be there to protect you."](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-prompts)

Phichit loves Yuuri.

 

He loves the way he plays model for Phichit’s many make-up experiments, the way he sits on Phichit’s bed, deposits a hamster on his head when Phichit has his face in his pillow, a victim to another one of his biweekly, college-induced existential crises, the way he freaks out over something as benign as casual drunken make-out sessions.

 

Phichit loves Yuuri but he doesn’t love him like  _that_. At least, he’s no match for the Greek god of a Russian skater festooning Yuuri’s side of the dorm like a personal shrine to thirst, so he doesn’t entertain his affection past the confines of friendship.  

 

Still, he’s invested in his wellbeing, as a friend, roommate, and fellow skater, so it bothers him when he notices Yuuri skipping out on regular dining hall hours to work on his triple axel for the sixth time in as many days.

 

“You’ll make yourself sick,” Phichit warns during dorm room movie night. They’re taking a break from the King and the Skater to watch Legally Blonde for the hundredth time because Elle Wood’s upbeat determination inspires them both, and Phichit keeps holding out hope that if they watch it enough times, Elle will finally end up with Vivian.    

 

Yuuri looks up from his spot in Phichit’s lap, features carved like soft marble in the blue laptop light, hands poised around a steaming cup of ramen. “I’m fine.”

 

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ Phichit thinks, ‘ _obviously, Yuuri_ ,’ but the empty assertion does little to allay his fears, especially when it’s his turn to dump their trash the following weekend and he finds it piled high with empty ramen cups, a sticky skin of Monster Energy-soaked Cheetos bags lining the sides.

 

Phichit has been planning an intervention for a good week, practicing his lines in the mirror—a remorsefully bitten lip here, an artful single tear there—by the time he gets a call from Celestino, asking if he is available to escort his precious, dearest, idiotic, irresponsible roommate to the health clinic.

 

Yuuri is what might generously be considered “standing” outside the rink by the time Phichit arrives to retrieve him. He’s red-cheeked and noticeably trembling, paler than Phichit’s ever seen him, skin paper white and blue-lined like the east/west route of the bus map.

 

“You’re a mess,” Phichit announces, not unkindly.

 

Yuuri pushes his hands up under his glasses, mumbles something incoherent into his palms.

 

“Yes, yes,” Phichit placates. He presses a hand to Yuuri’s forehead, his cheek, clucks his tongue at the unhealthy heat. “What did you eat for breakfast this morning? Actually, on second thought, don’t answer that. Preserve my innocence.”

 

“I didn’t eat anything,” Yuuri mumbles. His limbs are marionette loose. Phichit pulls the strings with little effort, looping Yuuri’s arm around his shoulder, guiding him towards the clinic on wobbly legs. “I couldn’t.”

 

Phichit swallows down a quip about whether the convenience store was out of high sodium garbage. Not right now, he tells himself. Later, when Yuuri is properly medicated, thoroughly coddled, and well on his way to recovery. At the moment, his suffering is punishment enough.

 

He reconsiders his stance when the nurse takes Yuuri’s temperature, uncovers a bouquet of angry bruises blooming across Yuuri’s hip, big purple welts like private galaxies scattered down his legs, and declares the source of his problems to be a bad cold with a side of vitamin C deficiency.

 

Phichit logs Yuuri’s symptoms into his WebMD app. “Wait, scurvy?” He demands. “You’re telling me he has scurvy?”

 

“Not quite to scurvy levels, dear,” the nurse corrects, but Phichit is past the point of listening.

 

Yuuri is handed off a bottle of vitamin C supplements, but Phichit bums a ride off Celestino to the closest Meijer, anyway, convinced that Yuuri will perish if he isn’t stuffed to the gills with citrus. At the very least, it won’t hurt him to get some fruit in his diet, and not just of the forbidden Russian skater variety.

 

“You’re sure he has scurvy?” Celestino asks warily, watching Phichit load down a cart with oranges and grapefruits, lemons and limes that he will inevitably be asked to foot the bill for.

 

“Like a pirate. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t eaten anything other than ramen and Cheetos for at least a month.”

 

Celestino has acted as an unwilling spectator to Yuuri’s systematically destroying himself for the better part of a year, and honestly, the premise isn’t unbelievable enough for him to argue. He grabs the cart by the handle and rolls it away from the produce section towards the beverages. “We better pick him up some orange juice, just to be safe.”

 

By the time Phichit arrives home, Yuuri is already asleep, an adorable bundle of rumpled hair, flushed cheeks, and 18th-century disease. Phichit sits on his legs, starts peeling an orange while he waits for Yuuri to stir.

 

Sometime later, Elle and Vivian are exuding clear sexual tension over lawyer speak and Yuuri mumbles something about Vicchan, lifts his face from his drool-soaked pillow. “Phichit? I can’t feel my legs.”

 

“Snopes has college students contracting scurvy listed as a legend, Yuuri.  _A legend_.”

 

“I don’t have scurvy,” Yuuri groans.

 

“Aye aye, captain. Whatever you say.” Phichit presses an orange slice to Yuuri’s lips and Yuuri opens his mouth, accepts it without argument.

 

“You have the worst bedside manner.”

 

“Ahoy, me hearties!”

 

“The worst.”

 

“You should be grateful you have me here to protect you,” Phichit says, fluffing up Yuuri’s pillow behind his back, shoving a Tupperware bowl of fruit slices into his lap.

 

Yuuri picks up a grapefruit slice, bites it in half. “From who?”

 

“Yourself.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/175273087733/006)


End file.
